Lawless
by AlreadyPainfullyGone
Summary: AU based off of True Grit. Dean kidnaps an unsuspecting Castiel because well...traveling gets lonely out west. Utter porn that would not leave me alone, warnings for partial non-con, older/young partner, poor imitation of old west talk.
1. Chapter 1

_I should not have gone to see True Grit...that is all. _

John throws Castiel off the porch, sending the boy stumbling into the yard. He's tense with the expectation of punishment, but doesn't resist or protest when John produces the switch, long and snappy green wood, motioning soundlessly for the boy to drop his wool slacks so he can sting the backs of his thighs with it.

Dean watches from the upstairs window, sash opened up so he can tap his cigarette over onto the roof tiles. He rests against the window ledge and keeps his eyes fixed on the man down below, and the boy half bent over in front of him. He's smoking nervously, bitter smoke burning his throat and making his eyes water, he swears that's the only reason.

Castiel is bent over, John whips back the switch and Dean jumps at the first lash of it across the boy's exposed skin, pale and uniformly smooth, rising to a welt from the first strike. Castiel shudders, legs shaking, and Dean jumps with each additional stroke of the switch, hearing the fist cry the boy gives out, just after the fifth sting.

John stops striking him, says something that Dean's ears can't catch, and walks back across the yard, up onto the porch. Castiel tugs his slacks up, wincing at the pain. He straightens awkwardly and Dean can see the limp in his step as he makes his way to his room over the stable.

Dean is due to ride out with Sam that evening, once their business in town is attended to and he's cleaned up the mess; the blood on his shirt, the overturned furniture and the broken glass – because fuck knows no one goes quietly. They're off along up the coast somewhere, Sam's got his mind set on a case someplace else and Dean needs to keep moving for the sake of his sanity. It works out well, has done for years, catching thieves, killers, rapists, debtors – whatever paid in whichever asshole end of nowhere town they came to.

Fucking lonely though.

Sure, there were the brothels, whores on the street and easy company to be found in bars. Even Dean, whose tastes ran toward the men more than the women (though he'd learned to keep that quiet and not be too choosy, queers were few and far in his experience) he did alright for himself. It was the long stretches of riding, travelling between townships, that was the worst. Just him and Sam, a shit ton of dust and nothing living to speak of by the snakes and coyotes.

Though Sam was a good Marshall, hell, a great one, and a fine man to boot, he wasn't that way inclined and to be honest Dean didn't much favour men like his partner. Too much like himself in both body and mind.

The boy though? He can work with thin legs and pretty skin. He'd seen him the previous day as well and the mouth on him was something to wonder at, soft and pink as a woman's, full lips just made for sucking.

He brings the idea to Sam who shakes his head wearily as he sets his tack aside and works on grooming his horse.

"You want to drag a soft boy like that out of the town, out on the road?" He looks half amused, half appalled. "He won't last a day, if he doesn't die of cold someone's gonna shoot the kid."

"Well, he just needs to last the night." Dean's not much for arguing; he'll do what he wants and fight Sam over it later. "If he lasts longer? That's just a bonus."

He snags the kid that night as they skip town. It's really too easy, he catches him round back of the house on his way to his own quarters, dumps a sack over his head and throws him against the wall, stunning him long enough to bind his hands and tie his arms close to his body. He wraps his ankles too and tosses him over the back of his mount, face and legs dangling toward the ground on either side. Under the sack the boy yells and he struggles at first, but the jolting of the animal beneath him knocks the wind out of him soon enough, and he settles for just about keeping his place on its back and not heaving his stomach out over the side.

It's still early in the night when they make camp, Dean throws his thick tarpaulin cover down on the ground, rough blanket topping it and a thick piece of rope to surround the place, keeping the snakes away. Sam takes his bed elsewhere, far enough that he thinks he'll be out of screaming distance, if the boy has enough fight left to yell.

Dean dumps Castiel onto the rough bed, yanking the sack off of his head and tugging off the ropes that bind him. The boy is pale and shaken, his wrists rubbed raw by rope, his hair mussed from being upside down for hours on a jolting horse. He scrabbles away from Dean, taking in the man's rough shirt and breeches, his tattered great coat and leather gloves. Dean's aware that he hasn't shaved properly in days, and his hair is over long and thick with travelling dust. The new wound above his eye has clotted, finally, and it will grow to match the scar that cleaves his lip in two.

He'd be afraid of himself, were he the boy.

"Where are we?" he asks in a small voice.

"Couple of hours from town." He sits down heavily on the blanket, tugging his gloves off. "Wouldn't get any ideas about running back if I were you – miles of dark country, road-less, crawling with snakes and you've got fuck all chance of finding your way."

Castiel doesn't respond, just shakes in his thin shirt and keeps his eyes on Dean's every movement. He's not stupid, he knows why he's out here, middle of nowhere on a strangers bedroll.

"So you can either take your chances out there, or keep to me." Dean reads the sudden sinking of the youth's shoulders as acquiescence and hauls him into his lap with a grunt. Castiel doesn't squirm away, but he doesn't react either. Dean lays the boy out on the scratchy blanket; face down and with his trousers tugged down his knees. It's deathly silent outside, nothing but the wind shivering through try plants and the occasional, distant, howl. Castiel's dull grunt of surprised pain carries all the way to Sam's bed and he rolls over and ignores it.

Fully clothed Dean's body is an uncomfortable weight on his, his pants down just enough to expose himself and the rest of him still weighted with wool and leather. His hands fist the dirt on either side of Castiel and he moves hard and urgently, silent save for a groan or grunt that punctuates Castiel's harsh breathing. There's nothing but spit easing his way and Castiel feels an edge of pain with every motion, but something else as well which makes him buck suddenly, shuddering like he's just taken unpleasant medicine.

Dean growls a low laugh and raises a dust pitted hand to fist the boy's cock, which sure enough is fat and leaking. Castiel keeps his head down but returns Dean's strong thrusts with a slight snap of his own hips. His breath comes thick and rough, edged with cries that he wishes he could contain but can't.

Dean swears and comes in the same instant, his hips kicking forward instinctively as he fills the boy and collapses against his back, clothes already freezing with cooling sweat. He tugs free and backs off, leaving Castiel tense as a drawn bow, head down and legs shaking as he bucks minutely at nothing, arousal heavy between his own thighs.

"Not too bad was it?" Dean turns the boy over roughly and lays him out on his back. He isn't gloating but soothing, as he would a spooked horse. Castiel doesn't seem to mind either way, only whimpering as cold air stirs over his erection. Dean wets his lips perfunctorily and bends over the boy, mouth wrapping around his cock as his hand fists the root. Silent as he's been till now, the kid almost howls, choking it off after only a second, hand flying to the too long, dirty hair of the man currently sucking him.

Dean jacks him roughly, mouthing quickly and with little finesse. It's not a skill he's ever had to master, being more blown than getting on his own knees. But in this case he wants to give the boy something for being co-operative, for taking him and not just going stiff and unresponsive like a frightened rabbit.

Castiel thrusts up, filling his mouth and sobbing a low moan as he comes over Dean's tongue. He sits up and spits as far as he can, hearing spit and warm come hit the dusty ground. Castiel lies panting on the blanket, weak and sated for now. Dean lies down next to him and drags another musty travel rug over them, tucking Castiel's shaking limbs against his own.

Bed fellows were few and far between on their travels, it was hard to keep hold of one for more than a single resting stop, not worth it either when Dean felt nothing for whichever woman or man he'd taken to bed.

Still, the next morning, when Castiel washed himself up and mounted the back of Dean's horse without complaint for his sore body. When he ate their food without complaint for its roughness and helped them to break camp. When, as the days uninterrupted riding came to a close and Sam signalled for them to bed down for the night, and Castiel moved his hand from Dean's thigh to cup his cock through his jeans. Dean couldn't help but hope he could keep this one.


	2. Chapter 2

_Well, a lot of people asked for an update...but it really was just a porny one shot. Anyway, here is some bonus Sam POV, much good may it do you. I apparently enjoy writing bad cowboy dialect _

Sam goes looking for his brother, having missed him that morning in the guesthouse. It's the first town they've passed through since the boy joined them, and Sam's getting antsy about their next job, worried that having the kid around will hamper them. So far he's convinced he's right, what with Dean being missing and all. He rounds the corner of the guesthouse, coming around behind the stables, and then he sees them in the shadow of the building. Castiel lifted off his feet, legs up and spread around his brother's waist, Dean's trousers around his ankles, the two of them pressed to a wall and moving harsh and fast with their eyes squeezed shut.

Sam kicks the dirt hard as he returns to his room. Dean was easily distracted at the best of times, and now he had his boy around he was hard to pin down into a concrete plan of action. It didn't help that Castiel, the clearly not-so-innocent back biter, had taken to his brother like nothing before. It used to be that Dean's conquests, usually boys from the towns they blew through, would go closed down and pale after a few nights of Dean's attentions. Castiel on the other hand had been with them for over a month and showed no sign of being opposed to Dean or the life they led, hell, he even seemed to enjoy the fucking, something which Sam found difficult to grasp. He'd always assumed it a painful, shaming process, at least for the boys themselves.

Since the first night Castiel had joined their camp there had been a change in his brother. Dean was suddenly concerned with the welfare of someone not himself, and having something warm to curl up to at night was doing wonders for his usually thorny temperament. But Sam wasn't about to stand for anything that might ruin their next paying job.

"Dean, either you leave the kid here, or you keep it for after dark." He growls when his brother eventually separates himself from the boy's ass long enough to come take care of his horse. "We've got work to do, in case you forgot."

"I didn't forget." Dean busies himself with saddling the beast. "and Cas's staying with us."

Sam lets it go, but the hell if he understands why his brother wants to keep one boy around for so long.

Castiel himself is something of a mystery, no family to speak of and he'd worked for John Singer most of his life. That was all Sam knew of him. He rarely spent any time with Castiel when Dean wasn't around, but today, whilst his brother was working on a lead in their current case, a bail jumper, he cornered the boy in their room.

Castiel was lying on the bed he and Dean shared, curled on his side and with his eyes open. Sam sat down heavily on the end of the bed, glaring down at the boy until he turned over to look at him.

"Did you want something Sam?" He asks eventually, voice even and polite as it had been when he'd served them at Singer's guest house.

"What exactly does my brother see in you?" He takes in the kids skinny frame, his pale skin, to fine for being under the sun for long, and his hands, unmarked with calluses from handing guns or reins. He's just a boy, nothing mysterious or tempting about him.

"I expect he finds me agreeable, more so than most." Castiel says softly. Sam reads a lot in those words, 'agreeable' in this boys mouth means plenty – interesting, pretty, willing, uncomplaining. The boy sits up, crossing his legs and folding his arms on top. "There're a lot of boys out there...not many'd admit to liking a man like your brother."

"And you do, is that right?" Sam challenges.

Castiel smiles his small smile, and Sam wonders if he's still sore from earlier.

"I like your brother, he doesn't beat me for liking it the way I do." He says simply.

Sam can see the reasoning in that at least – men like Dean, and boys like Castiel, are apt to become prey to any amount of persecution if they stay in one place or amongst regular people. At least this way they're together, blowing through places too fast to catch the scandal.

"Watch you don't distract him, he needs to work."

"Understood sir." Castiel says, sincere to a fault. "If I can help in any way, let me know."

Sam doesn't really begin to like Castiel for a good while. He's with them another month before he actually comes around and starts respecting the kid. Their bail jumper shoots him in the shoulder while Dean and Sam are trying to subdue him, Castiel hits the ground, bleeding through his shirt alarmingly fast.

Dean shoots the guy in both knees, sending him to the ground screaming.

He's never seen Dean so worried over a wound before, but he refuses to leave Castiel's side, keeping a compression going on the wound as Sam readies his kit to remove the bullet and sew him up.

Castiel doesn't make a sound the whole time. He just keeps looking up at Dean, like he isn't even really seeing him, but something written on his face. Not so much as a whimper gets out of him.

So eventually Sam has to admit that, though Castiel might be a strange creature for wanting his brother the way that he does, he has the strength to withstand a lot of the work they do, and he isn't going to slow them down.

He can make his peace with that.


	3. Chapter 3

_You are all incorrigible, and it's your fault I haven't updated 'The Winged Man' – Feel bad. So...this so filth, and vague almost but not quite plot – this is the last (LAST) update, unless I watch another western, so I hope you like it _

Dean keeps Castiel by him for long enough for him to forget what life was like without him. He gets used to his new routine, riding with Sam and Castiel (who now has his own horse) and bedding down for the night in their rugs, a fair distance from Sam.

Unless they've had trouble that day, leaving Dean tired or injured, he turns Castiel over, removing as few items of clothing as possible in the cold of the night, thrusting up into him with one hand fisted underneath the boy, pulling him towards his finish. Castiel is a different boy at night, when they travel he's quiet, focused and held up in his own thoughts. By the time Dean's worked his way inside, taking his time now to open him with spit covered fingers, Castiel's face is buried in his arms, half sobbing with need and shoving his ass back against his fingers.

"fucking _do _it." He whines, clenching against the fingers in an attempt to fill himself. "_Dean."_

"Shut up." He mutters, and Castiel goes silent because he's been told to be. Another reason Dean's kept him around, the boy knows when to heel.

Once he's inside, Castiel doesn't remain silent, but then neither does Dean, and he can't care much about that. He has to admit, if only to himself that Castiel is a sight like that, legs thrown wide, knees scuffing the dust as he bucks, one hand thrown out and fisting the earth and the other folded under his face as he keens and whines into the dirt, Dean licking the sweat at the back of his neck and jerking the boy's slick cock one handed, feeling it twitch and ooze over his fingers.

When the boy spends over the dry ground, filling his hand with pearly fluid and shaking out his last, Dean already gone soft and slick inside of him, he curls him on his side, one hand still down his slacks, thumbing the head of his spent dick till he whimpers and jerks. Rubbing his face against the smooth planes of his face and neck.

Castiel breathes in the smell of them, the tobacco and whisky of a hundred bars and the sweat of a man riding for hours underneath wool and leather.

On the nights when they happen to be in town, sharing flea ridden guest house chambers or backrooms, he sucks him down quietly so Sam can sleep, feeling Dean harden and soften again in his mouth, blunt tip at his throat. Dean jerks him rapidly in reward, watching his face the whole time.

He's happy. Happy to be had like this, to give himself and get something back, something worth the hard life they live.

They live that life for years.

Dean notices the changes in him but they don't really register. Castiel has grown taller, his frame packing on more muscle, compact but stronger. His smooth face roughens periodically with dark scruff, when they're too out of the way for him to find space and time to shave. His voice has broken, turning deeper than Dean's own, deeper even than Sam's. His hands develop calluses and he learns to shoot, to ride and fight almost as well as the brother's do.

Every time he changes, watching his fragile boy's body harden into something older and stronger, he wonders when Dean will see it, when he'll cast him aside. Dean has always wanted him because of his youth, his softness – he doesn't lust for men like himself, rough and covered in hair and scars.

He waits for Dean to take up another boy, and when he doesn't he can't understand why.

Things are changing in his mind as well, and he isn't as content as he once was with being fucked into the dirt or shoved onto his knees. He still likes Dean well enough, wants him as much as he ever did, but in new ways.

One night, lying on top of the threadbare rugs and feeling Dean on top of him, he strikes out, fighting to thrown Dean off and onto his back.

It's easy now that they are of more equal strength.

He moves on top of him, sinking down on Dean's cock and steadying himself so that Dean, looking up at him with combined anger and interest, can't help but stay where he is. Castiel rides him roughly, head tipped back and eyes squeezed shut against the sight of the night sky. Dean goes deeper like this, and it feels indescribably good, painful and hot and tight, but good. Dean grunts his appreciation, hands grasping his hips and moving him steadily when Castiel's own rhythm begins to falter.

When his body begins to lock up, clenching and pulling tighter with every down stroke, they both lose whatever control they had, rutting without thought and shuddering as one mass, filled and slicked with release.

Turning Castiel off of him and onto the ground, Dean lies on his back and pants harshly. Castiel watches him, wondering what he's done, why he did what he did.

"Getting strong, aren't you?" Dean eventually mutters, not as pissed as Castiel thought he'd be.

That's all the warning he gets before Dean's on top of him, two fingers sliding into him and his face right up close. He spreads his legs obediently and lets Dean take what he wants.

That's the beginning of a change in them, and it runs that way for a while as Castiel continues to grow and change, becoming one of the three instead of an additional piece of baggage to be unloaded and shunted about.

Until one night, wrapped fiercely tight underneath their coverings, Dean's heavy mouth on his, blunt hairs scratching against his already reddened lips, Castiel turns so that Dean is beneath him, finding a place between his legs and feeling the heat there, even through the dense fabric. Its only then that he realises what he wants, and even more strangely, Dean gives it to him, only nodding in a kind of defeated way and moving onto his knees so that Castiel can shove his clothing out of the way.

Castiel gets to take his turn as the man he's become, and the first time he slides into Dean it's rapturous. Filthy and immediate and hard, but so good, to take such a strong man underneath him, to feel Dean shudder and clench, knowing that he hasn't let any other man have him like this.

They become equal and yet still co-dependent. More so than Sam and Dean ever were by any stretch. It's a thing little spoken of, but accepted, that Dean will not replace Castiel, and that as on their first night, Castiel will not leave him for anything. Sam's content to leave them as is, and they have nothing to gain by discussing it further. So they don't.


End file.
